My mother would not want us to be sad today but to view her death as a release for her and her suffering and for us to celebrate her life, as she has made important contributions to this world. When my phone rang at 5:15 on the morning of October 19th I knew it was not good news... My sister Kay had gone to see our Mother just 48 hours before the call had come in. My mother had died... I got up and dressed quickly and hopped in the car and headed for the Nursing Home. As I was driving to Southampton the silliest phrase began bouncing around in my head... Mind you I took pause before I actually said it out loud to myself, as my mother had a rather wicked sense of humor that I have inherited from her and dare I say an unusual and politically incorrect way with words. Over the years I have found much of her diction has become my own and it is a gentle reminder of her powerful intellect and appreciation of the written and spoken word. She loved to read and would devour 5 to 10 books a week sometimes. To a degree I have inherited her love of books, but more so her appreciation for music. Some times she would be reading 3 or 4 novels simultaneously! I never understood how she could keep the plots and characters straight, but some how she managed...
Even though my mother had many personal demons, the one thing she managed to keep was her sense of humor. Barbara liked to poke fun about politics and the daily events of life that would transpire around her. She disliked her roommate at the Nursing home and she would roll her eyes to punctuate her displeasure or look at me and shake her frail little fist in the air or even silently flip someone the bird whilst they weren't looking. She wasn't a malicious person, but always had a strong opinion and wouldn't hesitate to let it be known, no matter how pedantic the topic of conversation may have been.
In terms of the larger picture, she knew she was going to die and it saddened her. I had broken the bad news to her when I had seen her in the hospital in Port Jefferson and we both cried. She knew the end was near, but she never really accepted it. Which in a way I think was a blessing in disguise. Rome for her was burning and nothing she could do was going to stop it, her only option was to get out and that is exactly what she did.
In her own words, she was“a little batty,” but she was also rather stoic in her last few days. It was widely known by many that she was more than a little batty for the last 10 or 15 years of her life. At times she was down right difficult. Few knew better than I. I had been with her for the majority of her time on earth and lord only knows the craziness she was capable of. The majority of her lifestyle was definitely not conducive to family life nor would it have passed the sensors on national TV, but I will tell you this...
There was rarely a dull moment when my mother was around...
It wasn't until I had become a man, gotten married and started a family of my own that I saw how destructive the disease of alcoholism was for her and I had to pull back from her so I could build what eluded her for most of her life, a stable family. Don't get me wrong, I am no a paragon of virtue, nor a pillar of moral perfection, but I have learned from my mother's mistakes, as we all should.
In the last few days of her life she was starting to hallucinate a bit and she was reporting to me with great conviction that so-and-so had come to visit or that someone she knew had become a resident of the nursing home. In reality she was seeing people who actually weren't there. One of them being a long time friend, Patsy Topping. A few days after my mother had reported to me with great certainty that Patsy was now a resident at the Southampton Center for Nursing and Rehabilitation I ran into Patsy at the drug store and relayed this tale to her about my mother seeing her at the Nursing Home. Patsy who is definitely not a resident, said “just tell her I am there and that my thoughts are with her.” I have known Patsy since I was about 6 years old and this seemed like a good approach to take. I must say that I value Patsy's wisdom and so as to appease the gods when I saw my mother next and I expected a comment about Patsy I was ready for it, but the moment never came.
Politics and racial prejudice were always an important topic of conversation and my mother felt it was her civic duty to make a difference some how, no matter how small it may seem to be. As I was growing up, I learned a great deal from her and in turn have become keenly interested in these facets of our society. My mother was very happy that we as a nation were on the verge of electing Barack Obama for President.
I was born 40 years ago on election day when our Nation was in great turmoil. As history tends to repeats itself, so we are again, at a very important juncture, facing great turmoil. For me it is a fitting time of change, strife and struggle that we face as a nation, and a very apropos end to my mother's time on this earth.
A story that was recounted to me about the day I was born (by whom I cannot recall) was very indicative of who my mother was as a person. After confirming that I was indeed a healthy baby boy, (two arms, check... two legs, check... ten fingers, ten toes, check...two eyes, check... etc....) the first question out of her mouth was “who won the election?” and much to our Nation's chagrin it was Richard Nixon. How I never ended up as a politician I do not know....
Actually I do know... I am my mother's son.
I have learned over my life time to push the edge of envelope as some would say. My mother on the other hand had a tendency to simply tear the envelope to shreds. Not long ago she was a person who could get certain things done whereas other could not, “by hook or by crook” she would say as she managed to pull off what ever shenanigan she was involved with at the time.
Her views on racial prejudice in our country were much more progressive than most and it was very important to her that everyone was treated equally. She was one of the first people to be a Fresh Air Fund volunteer in 1971 and I have many fond memories of Randy Pierce who came from the Bronx and spent the summers with us until 1975. She felt that no matter what the color of a person's skin, we are all important facets of our society. And as a result of her views I was raised to be color blind when other parents were feeding their children the hatred of racism.
She coached my little league baseball team in 1977 and I was mortified as a boy who's Mother was in charge of his baseball team, as only I knew, she knew little to nothing about the game of baseball. And again by hook or by crook she pulled it off with the grace and ease. I still didn't like it cause she was my Mom. Much to everyone's surprise she continued to coach baseball after I had reached the cut-off age of 12. She loved working with children.
As I walked in to the nursing home I thought to myself thank god she is finally free and she would suffer no more. She did a lot of that in the last 12/15 years of her life and now, finally for her... blessed relief... That evening I sat with a friend who has known me since I was a little boy, and we began the task of writing my mother's obituary and we were at a loss for words. Such promise and grace, such beauty and intellect and wit. Such dignity and yet so much suffering, sadness and chaos. Susan exclaimed “we really need your mother's help with this you know!”
Why she never wrote a book I do not know. We lived next door to John Irving for a number of years and she used to have lunch at Bobby Van's with Truman Capote on Thursday afternoons toward the end of his life, which was very similar to my mother's insomuch as they were both exceedingly intelligent people who drank like it was going out of style. Actually... I do know the reason she never wrote a book and it was the wish that I always had for her, it was always the same wish... If SHE COULD ONLY GET SOBER.... She could have done so many wonderful things in the waning years of her life. This was the dream I had for her and especially for my sister... who never really knew some of the more positive things about our mother as she is ten years younger than I.
Kay is the culmination of her mother's best attributes, she's creative and independent, strikingly beautiful, smart enough to become a successful lawyer, but not to linger in the profession too long. She is athletic, vibrant and loves animals, especially horses and is kind and thoughtful of others. Plus she has a penchant for men named Tom... Kay married a man named Tom which was was her Father's name as well as my mother's first husband. Now we must let our wishes and dreams go and remember the good times that again seem so few and far between... but in reality there were quite a lot of them.
She gave us the opportunity to grow up in what used to be and in some ways still is, one of the most beautiful places in the world and she saw that I was educated in one of the finest schools in the country. Your father took care of your education as our mother's darkness had taken a strong hold by that time in your life. Growing up with her as a mother was definitely not easy as I am sure my sister can attest to but as I look back on our life together it definitely was not boring either...
She could be one of the funniest people you would ever want to meet. She had a wicked way with words. As some would say she had a “caustic wit” which she would have pointed out is an over used and well worn phrase, and that was the god's honest truth... Again, her diction not mine. I remember listening to her and my Aunt Louise argue over the semantics and proper usage of certain words and phrases, such as the difference between idiomatic speech and diction. Idiomatic speech refers to a regional or native speech pattern that is particular to a certain locale and diction is simply one's choice of words. The definitions are similar, but Mom would usually win these types of arguments with Weezer... My grandfather was the only member of the family who could best my mother in these silly little games they would play with each other. He always ended up with the winning hand...
Unfortunately my sister Kay didn't have the opportunity to know my mother as I did before she fell off the deep end. She had a friend who is a writer and he was quoted as saying, “Your mother is so smart that if she could only get sober.... she wouldn't be running from the IRS she could be running the IRS.” There were good times back in the day... and as the years rolled past they only became fewer and farther in between... again one of my mother's phrases.
The phrase that popped into my head on the morning of her death was “Ding Dong The Witch is dead... The Witch is dead... The Witch is dead...” I know this may seem shallow and crass, but it was definitely something I had heard her say on the occasion of a close friend or family member's death. It was her way of making light of a very emotionally painful situation.
As I walked to the room where she lay not knowing what to expect, I knew but one thing. I am who I am as a result of her. Her values, her choices, her kindness, her fierceness and tenacity, her love, her spirit, her joy and sorrow. I kissed her on the forehead and told her that I loved her as she had done to me so many times as a child and I turned to leave the room. I paused and turned back just to double check as this would have been her idea of an uproariously funny joke on the Son who hears of his mother's death and runs to be at her side only to find her alive and kicking. Oh my would she have laughed. Like watching Monty Python on public television back in the day, laughter so raucous the neighbors who lived half a mile down the road would think she's gone right round the bend.... Well now she has... she's made the final turn... onto the home stretch...
I am reminded of a joke she told many times about the crucifixion of Jesus and his disciple Peter. Jesus was hanging on the cross and for him the end was near. He quietly called out to Peter “come closer Peter.” Peter struggled to get through the crowd that had gathered around Jesus and Jesus called out to him again “come closer” “I'm coming my Lord,” he hollered back as he drew closer, Jesus called out to him yet again, and Peter struggled to get closer through the maddening crowd. As Peter finally reached the base of the Cross he ask Jesus, “what is it My Lord, what can I do for you?” Jesus looked down upon Peter from the great height of his cross and quietly said “Peter..... I can see your house from here!...”
Like all us of Barbara had her faults, some much more glaring than others, but today we honor the memory of who she was as person when the demons had yet to rear their ugly heads, the gifts she gave, not just to her children, but to other children in the community as well and of the good times, the Christmas mornings rife with toys and the fantastic dinners she cooked, and of the time she took to help her friends. She was always very generous with her time especially when someone else was in need or hurting. I think she inherited this trait from her father who was always willing to help a friend tackle a project that was bigger than both of them. My mother wouldn't think twice about dropping what ever she was doing to help a friend. And finally the most important thing she gave to the world and the only real legacy she has left behind, her children.
As my mother was not big on charities and donating money to even the noblest of causes, as some people ask on the occasion of someone's death "can we make a donation to something that she cared about in her name?" My answer to that is no, if you would like to honor Barbara, TAKE ACTION! Do something extraordinary for a child in need and make a concrete and personal difference in that child's life even if that child is not your own. Go out of your way to visit an old friend who is not well and spend time with them as time is our most valuable commodity in life. Make a difference in your community by stepping up and volunteering, coach a baseball team even though you've never played the game. Do this in remembrance of her and think fondly of her in the times before the darkness set in...
